


Deconstruct

by skysedge



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: But not second person so not Reader, Drabble, F/M, More unspecified composer girl than Haruka herself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 13:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13764804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysedge/pseuds/skysedge
Summary: It’s not the first time he’s imagined pulling her apart at the seams.





	Deconstruct

 

He wants her.

Not because she's special. She's not, nobody is. And not because she's especially beautiful, no better than a girl he could pick up in any seedy bar in the city. No, he wants her because he's not supposed to have her. It's simple.

He watches her across the room, eyes narrowed but expression vacant, and tries to deconstruct her like a score. It’s not the first time he’s imagined pulling her apart at the seams.

A model student, rich in talent and graced with selflessness. Blessed with loyal allies and opportunities. Endlessly positive, foolishly kind, modest to a fault.

She's everything he hates. But her eyes are pretty and her curves are hypnotic when she sways to the songs she composes, lost to the beat, wearing her heart on her sleeve. Her passion is undeniable. He resents her for that too. Everyone in this business wants something more than music alone. He's here for the money, it's just a job, it's not the scene he suits, no matter how much she praises him. She has no right to be so pure, so honest. She has no right to be so...so...

So he watches her talk to her colleagues, her friends, with the familiar weight of jealousy deep in his stomach. He sees the way they look at her, the way she doesn't notice, the way they all dance around each other back and forth as if this was another performance. A touch here, a whisper there, stupid romantic gestures lost against the bulwark of her ignorance. He would do it differently. He would take her face in his hands and-

She glances at him from across the room, those bright eyes meeting his. He’s had too much to drink but he knows he holds it well, knows that it won’t show. It doesn’t keep him from wondering what would happen if she could read minds, if she could see the images in his head. He’s not a pretty poster boy, all polish and shine, she’d hate the places he wants to take her, the things he wants to make her feel.

It’s a fantasy. All of it. She flashes him her usual smile and the moment passes. She has no idea. He tastes the rim of his glass with his tongue and pictures the curve of her throat, wonders if her sweat would taste as sickeningly sweet as everything else about her. Her slender fingers which stroke the keys of the piano so lovingly would tangle in his hair and he’d urge her to pull harder. How satisfying it would be to watch her come undone, to bring her down to his level.

He’d be good at it. A natural at dragging people down, never managing to learn how to let others pull him upwards. He remembers when there had been nothing but music, nothing else keeping him going, and sometimes he thinks she’s the embodiment of music itself. Not just _his,_ but all of it, the essence of everything he lives for.

Sometimes he thinks he loves her as much as he hates her. Sometimes he doesn’t think there’s much of a difference.

And he wants her. It’s simple. She makes it that way without even knowing.

Not because she’s special. Simply because she is who she is. He wants her because he's not good enough to have her. He hates himself for wanting it all.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This happened at 8am while still half asleep. I don't know either. \\(:D)/


End file.
